


And Here's to You

by A_Butter_Churner



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Drink With Me, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mutual Pining, On The Barricade, Pining Grantaire, Sort Of, but at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24307567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Butter_Churner/pseuds/A_Butter_Churner
Summary: “Come to shame me, Apollo? Come to lecture me about cynicism and how it will get me nowhere? I don’t need that right now.” Grantaire spits bitterly, examining his wine bottle.Enjolras tries to soften his voice. “I just want to know why. You’ve been with us for years, and you’ve never believed. You could’ve left, and we would be the same.”Grantaire looks up at him, a challenge dancing in those lonely jade eyes. “That’s a fair question. But I have another. Why did you let me stay? Why didn’t you, the exalted leader, kick me to the curb? I wouldn’t have complained. I would have thanked you, probably, if you actually kicked me.”
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Les Amis de l'ABC Friendship, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 60





	And Here's to You

**Author's Note:**

> Yay more Enjoltaire! It's a short one-shot because, I mean, it's Drink With Me. That's the most canon Enjoltaire we're gonna get besides the "Do you permit it?"
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> <3 Jas

Everything was set. The barricade was almost finished and every man had a gun. Even little Gavroche wielded a rifle, despite Bahorel’s teasing suggestion that he should carry a small pistol. Gavroche was an excellent marksman, to Enjolras’s surprise. Although that was for the better. At least he was useful.

Enjolras surveys the field. His eyes rest fondly upon Joly and Bossuet, pressing playful kisses to Musichetta’s curls as she wraps her arms around both of them. He smiles while watching Courfeyrac entertain Gavroche with a dance and ditty as Combeferre shakes his head, chuckling softly. Enjolras watches Jehan attempt to weave flowers into Bahorel’s hair and Feuilly talking to Marius, who looks more lovesick than ever.

Then the revolutionary’s eyes fall upon Grantaire, curled up against the barricade with a bottle in his hands. The coy smirk that always adorns his face gone, replaced with sole crease of worry. He’d never admit it, but Enjolras misses it. Grantaire’s face isn’t complete without it. The cynic looks up, his green and gold-flecked eyes meeting Enjolras’s blue ones, and takes a swig from the bottle in his hand.

Enjolras does not fight the urge to roll his eyes. Time and time again, he’s wondered why Grantaire ever joined them in the first place. He believes in nothing, especially not the cause, so why stay here to die for it?

Unless…no. He wouldn’t.

Enjolras shakes his head, trying to free himself from thoughts of Grantaire. It doesn’t work, as expected. He can never truly stop thinking about the cynic.

Suddenly, Feuilly’s rich voice starts pouring over the scene like a glass of warm milk. _Drink with me, to days gone by._

Soon Jehan’s melodic lilt joins in, followed by Joly, till they’re all singing.

_Good,_ Enjolras thinks _, their spirits will be high before tonight._

Then abruptly, the chorus breaks when a voice like the earth itself begins to rumble. Something stirs within Enjolras after hearing it, for it could only be Grantaire’s.

The revolutionary turns to hear more clearly. Grantaire stands in the center of the barricade, anxiousness and a deep melancholy seem to tremble across his body.

“Drink with me, to days gone by. Can it be you fear to die?” His voice breaks a bit, shattering something in Enjolras’s heart.

Of course he would turn cynical. Turning away those who have been loyal to the cause, making them doubt themselves and the people. How could he do this? No, Enjolras knew the answer to that. Because it was all Grantaire did. He _couldn’t_ do anything else.

_You don’t believe that._ A traitorous part of Enjolras whispers. _If you believed that you’d have sent him away a long time ago. But did you?_

“Will the world remember you when you fall?” _Could it be your death means nothing at all?_ Grantaire’s song echoes within him, reverberating in Enjolras’s skull.

“Is your life just one more lie?” the last note is a whisper. A broken cry. But it is too late for tears.

As the chorus continues, Grantaire sinks down against a chair, already forgotten.

Enjolras finds himself walking over to him.

“Come to shame me, Apollo? Come to lecture me about cynicism and how it will get me nowhere? I don’t need that right now.” Grantaire spits bitterly, examining his wine bottle.

Enjolras tries to soften his voice. “I just want to know why. You’ve been with us for years, and you’ve never believed. You could’ve left, and we would be the same.”

Grantaire looks up at him, a challenge dancing in those lonely jade eyes. “That’s a fair question. But I have another. Why did you let me stay? Why didn’t you, the exalted leader, kick me to the curb? I wouldn’t have complained. I would have thanked you, probably, if you actually kicked me.”

Enjolras’s voice catches in his throat. “I…I don’t know. Maybe it was because you found holes in our plans so we could strengthen them. Perhaps I pitied you. Perhaps I actually…”

Grantaire’s eyebrows shoot up into the air. “Yes, Apollo?”

Enjolras shakes his head. “Forget it. If you want, you can go. You are bringing down our morale. We are already set. You can leave.”

Grantaire smirks, and something flutters in Enjolras’s ribcage. “Why would I leave you, Apollo?”

The smirk disappears and is replaced with something darker, sadder. “Why would I leave our friends? Why do you think I argue with you on every point you make? Why do you think I practically beg you to reconsider? Why do you think I stay?” Grantaire’s voice escalates in pitch with every sentence.

Suddenly, arms are around him and Grantaire is sobbing into his shirt. Enjolras tentatively wraps his own against Grantaire, pulling him close. He buries his nose into Grantaire’s soft blackish curls, taking in the scent of oil paint, whiskey, and cloves. He doesn’t want to let go.

“I don’t want to die, Enjolras.” He murmurs into Enjolras’s chest, sending tingles down the revolutionary’s spine.

“Then go. Don’t risk your life for something you don’t believe in.”

Grantaire stares at him, tears brimming in those beautiful eyes, dusted by stars. “I believe in you.”

How could four words hurt so much? They feel like a slap to the face, branding Enjolras forever. He feels suddenly unworthy of Grantaire’s devotion.

The voices seem to fade away was Enjolras pulls the cynic even closer, fighting the urge to press a kiss to his hair.

Grantaire then says, “I tried to stop this from happening. I know none of us will survive this day.” Then a little quieter, so soft that he must think Enjolras cannot hear him, “And I will die as nothing more than a drunk in your eyes.”

Grantaire places a cold hand to Enjolras’s cheek, utter devotion in his eyes sending the revolutionary’s heart down the abyss.

Enjolras returns the gesture, smiling softly with tears in his eyes. He can’t fight it anymore. He places a small kiss to Grantaire’s brow.

A little gasp escapes Grantaire’s lips and he smiles as the two press their foreheads together for a moment.

“Can I kiss you, Apollo?” Grantaire leans forward just as Enjolras pulls back. It hurts him, but it is too late. He knows that if he gives in to his urges, he will not take a stand tonight. He cannot be frivolous with his actions this evening.

“Oh.” Grantaire looks down, and removes himself from Enjolras’s grip, but not before Enjolras can pry the bottle from his hands.

The leader examines at the greenish bottle in his hand, stroking the nose and the rim knowing how many times Grantaire’s lips have touched it. In a sudden burst of daring, Enjolras lifts the bottle to his own lips and takes a swift gulp.

He knows not whether he will live to see tomorrow, but the smile that is now on Grantaire’s face will be enough for him to die with.


End file.
